


I'm Doing This For You

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Always for John, Dismataling Moriarty's Web, John Loves Sherlock, John Misses Sherlock, M/M, Sherlock Loves John, Sherlock Misses John, for John, really short, sorry about that, terrible summary, wow I like short stories
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-06
Updated: 2015-03-06
Packaged: 2018-03-16 13:11:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3489488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I'm doing this for you, John."</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm Doing This For You

The rain pelted his crouching figure like tiny dangers. He had to blink rapidly to keep the water out of his eyes. "It will hail soon," he thought to himself knowing the temperature was only a little above freezing. He just hoped the man would hurry up and get out of the bar before it did indeed start shooting ice from the heavens. But until his target or his target's buddies showed their faces, he would have to wait. Cold. Wet. Miserable. With only his motive to keep him in his place:

 

"I'm doing this for you, John," Sherlock Holmes whispered. 

 

//

 

Laughter roared in his ears. Men and women all around. Bottles in their hands, cigarettes in their mouths. All making so much noise. He couldn't think straight. Couldn't see though it all to recognize the fist before it made contact with his jaw. He stumbled back, landing hard against the wall of bodies that only pushed him back into the circle. He shook his head, only to receive another jarring punch in his gut. This was fun for them he realized. This was also the only way he was going to find the man he wanted. Beaten. Bloodied. Confused. With only his motive to keep him in his place:

 

"I'm doing this for you, John," Sherlock Holmes whispered. 

 

//

 

He sat in a cell. Well, you could call it a cell; the walls were metallic and there was only a small bed bolted to the floor. But instead of bars there was just a plain door. His hands were shackled behind his back. There was a guard with a gun right outside the door. There was a group of men down the hall a bit. They were talking about what to do with him. Torture him? Or just straight kill him and rid the world of it's "consulting detective"? Agitated. Bored. Disgusted. With only his motive to keep him in his place:

 

"I'm doing this for you, John," Sherlock Holmes whispered.

 

//

 

It was warm in London. Trees and flowers blooming. The sun coming out from it's hiding behind the clouds. Kids playing in the park. It was all quite lovely to see. But he barley saw any of it. He was hiding behind a newspaper. Sunglasses on, hat pulled down, light brown coat collar pulled up. He was taking the day off. Visiting some old ghosts. Across the street, second floor. A blonde man. A sad man. Staring out the window. Staring at nothing. It pained him to see the man like this. But it was necessary. It kept the man safe. Hurt. Disguised. Longing. With only his motive to keep him in his place:

 

"I'm doing this for you, John," Sherlock Holmes whispered.

 

//

 

The night was dark enough that he couldn't see a tree until it was right in front of him. Which made it very difficult to flee. Always having to doge at the last minute. He could hear his pursuers behind him shouting. He panted and almost tripped on multiple occasions. He couldn't stop running. If he did, he would die. Sweating. Blindly Fleeing Scared. With only his motive to keep him in his place:

 

"I'm doing this for you, John," Sherlock Holmes whispered.

 

//

 

Bliss. That was the only word he could use for it. Just a small prick of the needle in his right forearm and beautiful senselessness for a while. It helped honestly. Let him relax and forget about the dangers. Forget about the special blonde man that plagued his every waking thoughts. He knew it was bad. He knew it was an addiction. He knew he needed to stop. But for right now, it helped. So much. Buzzing. Numbed. Pathetic. With only his motive to keep him in his place:

 

"I'm so sorry but I'm doing this for you, John," Sherlock Holmes whispered.

 

//

 

Deep snores echoed around the small room. The faint sound of the pub below helped cover the sound of the creaking door open. Not like the sleeping man would notice. After a dozen or so beers, the man was out cold. Another man had snuck into his room. He was standing over the sleeping man. He was slowing pulling out a gun, silencer activated. He pushed the muzzle of the gun up under the passed out man's chin. Closing his eyes, he pulled the trigger. Blood began to pool on the sheets around, but he didn't see. The job was done and he was exiting the room. Torn. Relieved. Hated. With only his motive to let him go:

 

"I'm done, John," Sherlock Holmes whispered. "I've done it all for you."

**Author's Note:**

> Should I continue this? Nah.


End file.
